


A House In the Mirror

by Tailkinker



Series: CollarVerse Mirror [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Slavery, CollarVerse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tailkinker/pseuds/Tailkinker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Collarverse/Canonverse crossover. This is a sequel to my earlier story - A House In the Mirror. While Greg is enjoying life as a free person in the canon universe, House wakes up, tied to a bed, in the slave ward of PPTH...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The CollarVerse is the creation of Oflymonddreams. The stories set in the CollarVerse or AU depictions of the CollarVerse can be found on fanfiction.net here . The main premise of the CollarVerse is that Greg House is a slave, while still working in the same position as Diagnostics Department Head at PPTH. Wilson is very interested in Doctor House, and not in a good way.
> 
> The two main stories in the CollarVerse are Collar Redux Season One and Collar Redux Season 2 by Oflymonddreams who created the universe. This story takes place immediately after the events of chapter 12 (Distractions) of the second story. A/N - This is the sequel/companion story to my earlier story - A Slave in the Mirror. For all those who wanted to know what happened to Canon!House in that story this is the answer. A reminder that this story takes place directly after the events of the season 2 episode Distractions. In the CollarVerse Greg received fifty lashes at the end of that chapter. This story opens shortly after the sentence has been carried out. Warnings - There is no explicit violence or non-con in this story, although there is mention of both, there is an allusion to child abuse. Thanks again to Oflymonddreams who both created the CollarVerse and also gave me the title of this story :)

  
  Wilson made his way down to the slave ward eagerly. It had been twelve hours since the first part of Greg's sentence had been carried out and he was still buzzing from the excitement of watching those fifty strokes. Although he would never want to cause Greg pain himself, there was a part of him that responded to the exquisite pain the flogging had caused Greg. Every moan through the gag, every twitch of his skin, the slump of his shoulders as he collapsed against the whipping post at the end. The fine lines of red across his shoulders and upper back. Wilson had never been as aroused as he had been when the flogging was finished and Greg had been dragged away, only half conscious. .

He shouldn't be coming down here really, it wasn't a good look, for a department head to be seen down here, amongst the slaves, but it was part of his plan to get Greg to trust him. If he could just persuade his slave that he meant him no harm, that he was prepared to look after Greg, to help him, maybe one day Greg would want to be with him. He'd start by getting him out of here, taking him home and caring for him while he recovered. Maybe he could persuade Cuddy not to have the balance of the sentence carried out. It would be a shame to miss another session like that, but Greg would surely appreciate what Wilson had done for him.

He signed himself into the ward, and made his way down the row of beds. There were two other slaves there, both restrained face down, he ignored them and made straight for Greg lying in a bed at the end of the long room.

He was naked of course, his arms and legs spreadeagled, and fastened to the four corners of the bed, face down like the other slaves. Wilson smiled as he lent down and ran his hand through Greg's thinning hair, Greg twitched under his hand, Wilson wasn't sure if he was awake, or conscious of his surroundings.

"Greg," he said gently, while petting his hair. Suddenly he jerked his hand away and took a closer look at the prone slave. His collar was gone, along with Wilson's tag. Wilson ran his eye down his body and saw what he'd missed before, a clean back, no whip marks. When he looked closer he couldn't see the fine scar lines from previous whippings that usually covered his slave's shoulders and back.

The collar being missing was improbable, the scars and whip marks being gone was impossible.

He shook Greg's shoulder, this time not trying to be gentle.

"Greg!"

Greg stirred in the bed, turning his head sleepily towards Wilson and moaning. Then he tried to move his arms and his eyes snapped open, panicked. He looked up at the head of the bed and tugged, then tried to kick, the restraints held him tightly.

"What the...Wilson! What the fuck's going on? What have you done?" He kept pulling at the restraints.

"Where's your collar? And my tag? And what happened to your back?" Wilson looked around for the nurse, lounging at a table at the entrance to the ward. "Nurse, get over here now!"

"Wilson! Let me up! What do you think you're doing?" Greg was getting more panicked in the bed and the nurse hurried over.

"Is something wrong, Doctor?"

Wilson gestured to Greg.

"This slave seems to be missing his collar, and would you like to explain how his back healed so quickly? When did you last check him?"

"We check 'em every hour, Doc. Standing orders. This one's been out of it since he got here, just moaning and whining like they all do." The nurse bent over to have a closer look at Greg's back. "That's impossible, he was real cut up when they brought him in."

"Call security," Wilson said, dismissing the nurse with a curt nod.

"Wilson, have you completely lost your mind? You were the one telling my yesterday to get a hobby, go bowling and now you've tied me to a fucking bed? Where the hell is this? Let me up."

"Greg, quiet down, you're going to hurt yourself. I need to figure out what's going on here, and you don't need to get into any more trouble than you already are."

"I need you to untie me, this isn't funny Wilson, I don't want to detox, or go to rehab or whatever the hell you think this is. Some sort of intervention? Been reading Drug Addiction for Complete Idiots again? I'm fine, I don't need you, and I don't need whatever this crap is."

House kept tugging at the bonds. Something was wrong here, very wrong. Whatever lame ass detox programme Wilson had him in they shouldn't be tying him to the bed, not until things got a lot worse. He mentally evaluated himself. The pain in his leg was only a little over standard, and although he wanted a Vicodin he wasn't craving one with every essence of his being, he wasn't nauseous, he wasn't sweating, his heart wasn't racing. He was only in the very early stages of detox if at all, there was certainly no need for restraints and...He peered down his naked body and saw a tube coming out of his dick, he'd been cathed. Tied down naked on a bed, peeing into a tube, what the hell was this? And Wilson had said something about 'slave', this had to be some sort of joke, Wilson's revenge for whatever he thought House had done wrong. He'd been pretty pissed about the whole 'induced migraine' and coma patient thing, not to mention the revenge on the evil Von Lieberman.

He hated being tied down, dear old Dad had tried that one a couple of times when he was kid, but he'd screamed and yelled loud enough to wake the dead, or at least the respectable couple in the next house over and Dad had let up. The ice bath hadn't exactly been a fun substitute but it had been better than being tied to something.

He tried to look around, to get an idea of where he was but it was just a dingy hospital ward. An old-fashioned one by the looks of it, not the gleaming private rooms of PPTH, with their glass walls, but a poorly lit, narrow room with narrow beds, with not so much as a privacy screen between them. He could see a man and a woman in two other beds, both naked and face down, their arms over their heads in an unnatural position, both tied. He pulled at his bonds again, scared, despite the presence of Wilson.

"Doctor Wilson, is there a problem?"

House looked back around and saw an unfamiliar man in a PPTH security guard uniform talking to Wilson.

"Yeah, there's a fucking problem, I'm tied to this bed. Let me up."

The man glanced at him, a cold expression on his face, and his hand went to a baton on his hip.

"Quiet Greg, or I'll gag you, and you know how much you like that."

"You'll gag me?" House yelled, this was getting beyond a joke. And why were they all calling him Greg? "Have you been visiting one of those places in between frisking little old ladies trying to lift drugs from the pharmacy?"

The man started towards him, pulling the baton out when Wilson grabbed his arm.

"No, look at him. He doesn't have his collar."

"The medical staff removed it.."

"No, they didn't - not for a simple whipping. And look at his back. No whip marks. You know he was whipped yesterday, he was covered in lash marks. I saw them. Something is going on here."

The man looked at his back and then at Wilson.

"Yeah, um...I'll call the chief, he'll want to contact Doctor Cuddy, anything regarding this slave is supposed to go through her. Don't worry Doc, once we've received her authorisation we'll take the slave and get the truth out of him."

"Wilson! I don't know what you think you're doing but you're taking this too far..." House said, trying to keep his voice reasonable, Wilson may have flipped completely, House had always pegged him for an 'impending nervous breakdown' type, it was bound to happen eventually, oncology had a way of burning people up if you took it personally, which of course bleeding heart Wilson did.

The burly guard turned back from where he'd been talking into his phone and grabbed a handful of House's hair, tugging on it hard. In his other hand he took his baton and pressed it against House's throat.

"Shut up, Greg! Now you be quiet like a good boy or I'll make you be quiet. Do you understand? Don't talk, just nod."

House felt tears springing to his eyes as the guard tugged at his hair. The baton was pressing against his throat, threatening to cut off his air. Wilson was standing behind the guard, his eyes wide, making no move to intervene. Very slowly and carefully House nodded, firmly clamping his lips shut. There was a time for discretion and this looked to be it.

"Good boy." The guard released him and took the baton away, still eyeing him. House kept his mouth shut.

The guard studied his phone, reading a message there.

"Boss is on his way, he's alerted Doctor Cuddy. We'll talk outside."

The guard started to move off and, after a glance back at House, Wilson turned away as well.

"Wilson, don't..." House started to croak out, hating himself for sounding pathetic but he was beginning to be very scared and whatever the hell was happening at least he could be sure that Wilson wouldn't hurt him.

Wilson looked back at him, his eyes going wide again, and then he smiled slightly, looking pleased, of all things.

"Just relax, Greg, we'll sort this out, find out what's happened. I won't let them do anything to you."

For some reason House didn't find that very reassuring.

Cuddy wasn't pleased at being called down to the slave ward, matters concerning the medical status of the hospital's slaves was not her concern, that was the purview of the slave overseer, Cuddy preferred to have nothing to do with that aspect of the hospital, much like she didn't get her hands dirty fixing the furniture and MRI machines. Of course Greg was a special case, she was his direct supervisor, and by necessity she had set up the current arrangement whereby anything that concerned him also concerned her. Greg had nearly been irreparably vandalised a couple of times in his first few weeks at PPTH because the slave Overseer hadn't known how to handle him properly. He was a very expensive, very important to the hospital slave, and he needed careful handling. Wilson tagging him was supposed to help relieve her burden in that regard, as Stacy's tagging of Greg had, but so far it seemed to be a spectacular failure.

Now she was standing outside the ward, feeling out of place in this neglected corner of her hospital, in her stylish clothes and heels. The ward was small and dingy, not like the gleaming glass fronted rooms of the main hospital. There was no need to waste money on aesthetics for slave patients, they wouldn't appreciate it. The function of the slave ward was to get the slaves healed as quickly as possible, and with a minimum of fuss so the slaves could resume their work.

She could see into the ward and there were three slaves in there, all naked and restrained face down. She knew one of the patients would be Greg, recovering from the whipping she'd ordered. She didn't want to see the consequences of that whipping for herself, she never went to watch. The whippings were necessary to maintain discipline, but she got no enjoyment out of it.

The Security supervisor for night shift, a security guard she didn't recognise, and a junior nurse were standing next to Wilson outside the ward when she arrived, and she turned away form the door to the ward and towards the men. She listened to their tale of a Greg House, with his collar removed, no lash marks on his back and, according to Wilson, no scars from the numerous whippings he'd received over the years. She'd seen Greg's back, it was criss-crossed with the thin white lines of previous beatings. Greg apparently had been ranting and raving until the security guard had made him shut up.

The nurse defensively denied any knowledge of what had occurred, he insisted that he'd checked Greg regularly and the collar and marks had been present at his last check. Cuddy didn't necessarily believe him about the regular checks, she'd had to discipline the nursing staff down here more than once for making use of slaves that were supposed to be their patients. But even if the nurse had been remiss in his duties there was no reason to think that he had anything to do with the odd situation, what could he have done?

"So, what are you suggesting has happened? Greg has an identical twin and they have somehow swapped places? Time travel? Alternative realities?"

Wilson was looking at her with that naive, puzzled, expression he adopted when he was trying to get his own way. She shrugged, "What, do you think I've never seen a Star Trek episode?." She walked away from the men and entered the ward, making her way to where Greg was lying. He was watching her with a guarded expression but was silent for once, apparently whatever threat the guard had used had been effective. Good, she didn't need his smart mouthed remarks at the moment.

"Open your mouth, Greg," she ordered and he stared at her silently for a moment and then glanced at the security guard who was standing behind her and slowly opened his mouth.

"Wider than that. Good. Hmmm, you can close your mouth."

She turned to Wilson. "Greg lost a tooth soon after I bought him, we've never needed to have it replaced. This man has all his teeth. Do a thorough physical exam on him, including an MRI, DNA samples and a tox screen. Do it personally, I don't want to hear any gossip about this." She turned to include both security officers in her glare, although she knew that something like this could hardly be kept quiet. "Compare the results to the last full physical he was given. Bring him to my office with the results tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. He can sleep in diagnostics when you've finished with him as he obviously doesn't need to be here, but security will be posted outside."

She looked again at Greg. "If this is some form of deceit you will be receiving those fifty lashes again, and all the rest I waived. So if you have anything to say to me then I suggest you say it now."

Greg's eyes flicked again to the security guard, and then to Wilson, he looked more uncertain than she had ever seen him since those first weeks after she purchased him. He swallowed hard and she could see that he was scared.

"I have no idea what is going on, the last thing I remember is laying down on my bed, and then I woke up here. Either you people are all crazy, or this is some sort of elaborate practical joke, or I'm really in a loony bin somewhere hallucinating all this. Whatever, I just want someone to take off these restraints and get me some clothes."

For a moment she thought about taking control of the investigation herself, Greg was a very important and expensive hospital asset after all, and Wilson was somewhat 'personally' involved but she dismissed the idea. She had always taken care to take a very impersonal approach to Greg, to treat him exactly as what he was, hospital equipment, there was no reason to change that approach now.

"Very well, carry on Doctor Wilson. I will see you in the morning."

With that she turned around and left the slave ward, relieved to be out of the place.


	2. Chapter 2

House sat on an exam table in the clinic. A pair of scrubs had been provided to him before he was led away from that dismal ward. As he dressed himself in the worn garments he'd been conscious of the eyes of the other two..patients? slaves? on him. They were still restrained to their beds, neither spoke but they had watched him with great interest. House suspected that they had no intention of 'keeping quiet' about what had happened. If they were ever untied from the beds that was.

He'd felt a little less exposed once he was dressed, and was relieved to have his limbs free - having his right leg restrained had been an agony, he needed to be able to move it around. Wilson had found a cane for him and they made their way out of the ward. They appeared to be in the basement, but Wilson ushered him into an elevator before he had time to see much of it. The inside of the elevator confirmed to him that they were in PPTH, there were the usual official notices on the walls. One sign in particular caught his eye.

 _Slaves must not use this elevator unless escorted._

He looked at Wilson who smiled at him in what House guessed was supposed to be a reassuring manner.

"We'll go to the clinic, it should be shut by now and everything we need will be there." Wilson told him, and House nodded.

The whole situation was so bizarre he was finding himself at a loss for words. He must be hallucinating it all, that migraine drug of Webber's must have some strange side effects, or maybe it was the effect of mixing it with some LSD and Vicodin, and whatever else he had taken than day. A little voice inside of him suggested that if he so lucidly reasoned that he was hallucinating he probably wasn't but he ignored it, the alternative that this was real was just something he wasn't willing to accept. He didn't want any part of wherever this was. These people were calling him 'slave' and if there was one thing Greg House was not, it was a slave.

So he'd meekly come into this exam room, conscious that the guard had followed them and was stationed outside the door. Wilson was playing his part to the hilt, taking a blood sample and checking all his vitals.

"I'm going to need you to take off the scrubs so I can conduct a thorough visual examination," Wilson said when he'd finished taking House's blood pressure.

"I thought you would already have seen everything you needed to when I was tied to that bed," House answered, reluctant to strip off his clothes again, even for Wilson - or this hallucination Wilson, or whatever he was. "You know, you could just ask me for information if you wanted."

"You said you didn't remember anything after going to sleep." Wilson pointed out. "What exactly should I ask you?"

"Well, maybe I'll ask the questions. Why did you keep referring to me as a slave?"

Wilson crossed his arms and shrugged. "Because you are a slave, have been for many years. Cuddy bought you for the hospital soon after you were enslaved, and you've been here ever since. You run the diagnostics department, and have some special privileges, but ultimately you're one of the hospital's slaves."

"I am not a slave. This is America, we don't have slaves here, maybe you missed that whole Civil War thing?"

Wilson opened his mouth to say something, but House continued on, "And why was I in a hospital ward tied down to a bed? If you can call it a hospital ward, looked more like a medieval torture chamber."

Wilson stiffened at that. "The slaves of this hospital are treated very well. You can't expect them to be put in with the free patients. The restraints are necessary so that they don't hurt themselves."

"Oh, I'm sure it's all for their own good. And you haven't answered my question."

"And you haven't undressed yet. I need to get this exam done, and I still have to get you in for an MRI and a full body scan. It really would be in your best interests if we found out that you aren't Greg House, the slave, wouldn't it?"

House agreed with that, after his brief glimpse of what being a slave would mean in this place he had no wish to be named one. Reluctantly he started taking off the scrubs. He hadn't been given any underwear so once again Wilson would get a full view of him, including the hideous scar on his thigh.

When he was naked Wilson had him sit on the edge of the exam table and then came over to examine the scar in detail, his hands lightly ghosting over it.

"You were in the slave ward because you had just received fifty lashes. That's why we were surprised to see that you didn't have any marks on your back." Wilson said, almost casually, as he kept examining the scar. House felt himself tensing up. Wilson had seen it before of course, when he was helping him out after the infarction, but House had never liked having the scar 'on display' and Wilson seemed to be obsessing over it, as if he could determine what had happened by any differences in the scar. House thought about receiving fifty lashes of a whip, was it single tailed, or multi, how much would that hurt? It would be a great 'gating mechanism' for the pain in his leg anyway. Maybe better than breaking his finger.

"And what did I do to 'deserve' that? Not go to my knees quick enough for Cuddy? Or did I forget to lick your boots this morning, Master?" The hands stilled on his scar and he heard a small intake of breath and then Wilson let out a little laugh, obviously forced.

"Oh, you injected some coma patients with an unproven drug, took the drug yourself after giving yourself a migraine, hacked into the hospital mainframe, sent some unauthorised emails, various other things. Cuddy commuted the sentence to one hundred, from four hundred lashes. You were lucky."

"Yeah lucky me, I'm blessed." House recognised the actions as his own, except the consequences had been a tongue lashing from Cuddy, not a real lashing. What sort of bizarro world had his subconscious dreamed up here? He didn't miss the fact that 'he' had only received fifty lashes of that one hundred, he wondered when the other fifty were due.

Wilson moved around to his back, running his fingers over it, presumably looking for any lash marks.

"There are no scars here at all, well, no whip scars anyway, There's a few other marks."

John House had been handy with a belt for his wayward son, but House had no intention of sharing that information. At least he hadn't ever taken a whip to him.

"That's because, not being a slave, I've never been whipped. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

Wilson stepped in front of him again and House grabbed the scrubs and started to get dressed again.

"I was there, Greg, I saw them doing it. I saw your back, saw the marks..."

"It wasn't me."

"Then who was it?"

* * *

House lay on the narrow bunk and tried to sleep. After a long evening of tests Wilson had finally brought him here, trailed by the ever present guard. The conference room and diagnostics office looked much the same, except for this small bunk tucked into the back of his office. There was a scant collection of toiletries on one shelf above the bunk and a spare set of jeans and t-shirt and a rolltop on another and that appeared to be all that Greg-the-slave owned. Once Wilson had left him alone he'd done a quick search of the office drawers, but there were no toys, no games, no porn magazines, no bottles of booze. There was virtually no decoration in the office at all, and no computer. It bore a remarkable resemblance to a prison cell.

And there weren't any little vials of Vicodin. He'd asked Wilson for some painkillers and received two Oxycontin tablets, apparently he was normally given a dose every morning and every afternoon, single doses, no popping pills whenever he felt like it. Two pills were hardly going to hold the pain at bay, even for an evening, not with the dosages he'd been used to. Wilson said he wasn't authorised to give him any more, with a slight smile on his face. House had the impression that he was lucky to get the two he got.

He was gradually coming around to the idea that this wasn't some sort of intricate delusion bought on by drug use, but a reality different to his own. Incredible as it seemed he couldn't help thinking that it was true, he'd somehow ended up in an alternative universe, one uncannily similar to his own in many way, but with slaves. He wondered why, if he had to end up in a reality where there were slaves, he couldn't have ended up a 'master' rather than a slave. Maybe one where Chase was the slave or something, he'd make a good one. He took it as just another example of the shitty hand that life had dealt him.

One thing was for sure, he wasn't going to meekly accept the role of slave here, he couldn't understand why this other Greg House had, surely he had more fight in him than that? Had he been worn down over the years, until there was little left of House, just a meek, cowed slave? Except, he remembered Wilson's explanation of why 'Greg' had been whipped, that defiance didn't sound like a man who had been broken.

Well, either way, nobody was going to make him submit to these people, they could whip him all they liked. He wasn't a slave.

Except, he was lying on a narrow bunk, naked, with nothing to his name and a guard on the door. He had no home, nowhere to go, no control over his own life, and no identity in this universe except 'slave'.

He tossed and turned for the rest of the night, the pain in his thigh slowly ramping up until it threatened to consume him whole.

* * *

Morning came slowly and he sat on the side of his bunk and rubbed at his thigh. His body was craving more painkillers, and he was beginning to experience early withdrawal symptoms. He would have to get Wilson to cough up more Oxy than two doses a day, maybe get switched to Vicodin if he was here for any period of time. He refused to admit to himself how scared the idea of remaining here indefinitely made him.

He dressed in the set of clothes he'd found on the shelf, a cheap pair of jeans and a grubby white t-shirt with a blue button down shirt over the top, he thought he looked every inch a prisoner, which in effect, it seemed he was.

He heard the door opening and looked up to see Wilson standing there, a paper bag in hand.

"Brought you some take-out, didn't think you'd want to try the slave canteen, and not a good idea to go to the cafeteria without your collar, bound to raise questions."

"Did you bring more oxy?" House asked, barely listening to the man and snatching the bag out of Wilson's hands. He peered inside the bag before staring intently at Wilson, looking for the pills that would bring sweet relief.

"Yes, you can have it once you've eaten, it's a bit early but given the circumstances I don't think it will matter."

"You're so kind. Give it to me now." House put out his hand for the pills.

"After you've eaten, you shouldn't take it on an empty stomach."

"What are you, my mother? I'm a doctor too you know, I know how to take painkillers, been doing it for long enough." House started eating anyway, he was hungry and it was probably better at this point to be a little co-operative, until he found out just how things worked here. "So, what's the verdict? Am I your little slave Greggie or some alien from another planet?"

"It's better if we wait to see Cuddy to discuss that," Wilson said.

"You used to be a lot more fun, " House grumbled. Wilson was unnerving him. He'd known him for so long, thought he knew him inside and out, and this was Wilson, but just a little bit off. He didn't know if he would have noticed the difference, if it hadn't been for the whole slave thing. Searching for a distraction he looked into the conference room next door.

"Do I have minions here? Can a slave have minions? Or are they slaves too, of course they'd be lesser slaves, sort of slave-slaves..."

Wilson cut him off. "You have three fellows working with you. You have authority over them but they aren't slaves, they're free people. I phoned them earlier and told them not to come in today, you haven't got a case and having them here would only complicate matters until we get this sorted out."

"That was very generous of you on my behalf. I'm sure they were very pleased. What are their names?" He asked the question casually but looked at Wilson intently.

"Chase, Cameron and Foreman." Wilson answered. "Same as yours?"

House nodded. Damn, this was creepy. Everything was the same, except...him. He was the only one who was different. The hospital, the office, the fellows, even the damn cases were the same. By the end of the day were they going to put a collar around his neck and decide that it belonged there?

He finished eating and held his hand out for the Oxycontin. Wilson eyed him but finally handed over two tablets which House threw back into his mouth and swallowed. Almost immediately he felt the shooting pain in his leg diminish, a reaction he knew was purely psychological.

"Better?"

"Peachy." House got to his feet, looking at the clock on the wall. "Time to go and see Mistress Cuddy. See if I receive a 'get out of slavedom free' card."

* * *

"As you know, I conducted a full physical on Greg last month," Wilson said, putting a file down on Cuddy's desk. Greg was sitting in a chair in front of the desk, Cuddy was in her normal place behind the desk. Normally when Greg was in her office he was either standing or when she was disciplining him she had him kneel in front of her desk, it was strange to see him sitting comfortably on a visitor's chair. Without the collar around his neck he looked less like Greg and more like the Doctor House she used to know.

"I also conducted a full physical on..." Wilson looked at Greg and shrugged, "this man, last night. It is my professional opinion that they are not same person."

Cuddy listened intently as Wilson detailed his findings, the lack of scarring was the most obvious, and the fact that Greg was missing a tooth while the man in her office wasn't, but there were also more subtle things, a difference in the scarring on the MRI Wilson took of the leg injury, this man was substantially heavier than Greg had been, only a month ago, weight gain was always possible but Cuddy suspected that Wilson would have noticed if that had been the case. There were various other findings that confirmed his conclusions but Cuddy was already convinced. The man in her office was not Greg, the slave she had bought for the hospital so many years ago.

"Do you have any explanation for who this man is then?"

"Well, his DNA checks out against Greg's, he has the same DNA so unless Greg has an identical twin whose birth wasn't recorded anywhere, this man is some sort of substitute from a different universe maybe?" Wilson shrugged, pulling a face that clearly indicated that he wasn't a believer in science fiction type explanations but had no other ideas. "This man..."

"This man is sitting right here. Do I get a vote on possible theories? Before you decide that I'm some alien who came down from the mothership that is?"

"Look, Greg.." Wilson started to say but Greg cut him off.

"House, call me House. That's how they do it back in 'my universe', " House rolled his eyes.

Wilson nodded. "Look, House. I don't really know what's going on, and I don't believe in little green men either. But we can't deny the evidence here. Unless you want to be identified as a slave?"

Cuddy cut across the two men, she didn't have all day to spend on this and they had to get this resolved.

"For the moment we will go with the alternative realities theory. It seems to fit, both with the physical evidence and House's assertion that his world doesn't keep slaves, hard as that is to imagine..." Cuddy trailed off, wondering how they ever got all their work done without slaves, or what they did with the percentage of the population who slacked off and didn't pay their way.

"Yeah, we don't keep slaves, tried it once but it didn't work out. So, if that's all settled I'll be going... " House stood up, grabbing his cane and turning towards the door.

Cuddy was amused, it was a bold move, something she might have expected from the Greg House she had met in College, long ago. Wilson was staring at House like a child whose toy was being taken away. For one moment she was tempted to let him go and see Wilson go running after him but she intervened.

"Where do you think you're going, House?"

"Well, it strikes me that you people have lost a slave, and I look just like him but sorry, I'm not interested in the job. Maybe you can get one from the slave pound or something. I'm going home."

"You're going back to your universe? Very well, go right ahead." She sat back in her chair and watched him, smiling.

House looked back at her and his shoulders seemed to sag a bit.

"Is there a bus stop?" he asked, almost sadly.

"You may end up back there the next time you sleep, I don't know. But unless or until, you somehow get transported back there you are here with us. May I suggest we all make the best of it?"

"Lay my head down and let you put a doggie collar on me? No, thanks."

She sighed. "You are not a slave here, House." She fancied she could hear a whimper of betrayal from Wilson but continued on. "There is a legal procedure for making a slave, and you have not gone through it, despite your resemblance to someone who has. It would be reprehensible of this hospital to try and force you into that role when you have done nothing to earn it. Slavery is only imposed on those who have shown that they cannot be in charge of their own lives, or those who voluntarily give up that status to gain some benefit for their family. You are not a slave here."

"Great..."

"However, " Cuddy continued, when it seemed House was going to make another smart remark. "You are in an unfortunate position in our society, whether you realise it or not. You have no home here, no job, no identity, and no means of income without an identity. With no income, well...it wouldn't be very long until you would find yourself becoming a slave."

Wilson was looking slightly happier but House was looking trapped.

"I can offer you the position that Greg occupied here, but without the status of slave. You would draw a modest salary and have the title of Department Head of Diagnostics. Greg worked in the clinic for four hours a day, seven days a week, I would require you to do the same, but for five days a week, at times when you don't have a diagnostics case."

"How are you going to explain his change of status to everyone? "Wilson asked, "they're going to notice that he's not a slave any more."

"We will have to make a show of having him freed. I'm sure we can find some pretence or other to have it done."

"How generous of you..." House started to say but Wilson interrupted him.

"And what happens if they switch again and we get Greg back? Once a slave has been freed he can't be enslaved again without the same process being gone through. The hospital would lose him."

Cuddy shook her head. "We would lose him as a slave, but the same argument would apply to Greg as applies to House, he would have nowhere to go, and, as you know, even after he was 'freed' we would still have a certain control over him. It's a risk we will have to take. We can't treat House as a slave when he's done nothing to deserve that status."

Wilson looked unhappy but sat back, Cuddy knew that he realised she was right, this was the only way forward for them. Sure there'd be talk and speculation around the hospital about the whole thing, too many people knew that Greg had been flogged and then had seen him walking around the hospital, seemingly uninjured. But people could speculate all they liked, the official line would be that Greg had been freed.

She looked at the man who called himself House. He was still hovering by the door, having been watching her while she outlined her plan.

"Well, House? Do you agree to my terms? If you do I'll have to ask that you go along with the 'official' explanation. You may face some discrimination, some people might give you a hard time as a freed slave - but I assume you are used to dealing with the poor opinion of others. Any serious problems and you can see me so I can sort it out."

House alternated between looking at her, and the door, obviously weighing his chances of just laughing her off and leaving as fast he could limp away. Then he glanced at Wilson.

"You're not leaving me with a lot of choice. Take your 'offer' and be treated like I used to be a slave, or try and find another job - and I'm assuming I wouldn't get a glowing recommendation from you?"

"Technically, you haven't worked for me." Cuddy pointed out, "I would be remiss if I gave you any recommendation." That had the virtue of being true after all, she hadn't seen him in action yet. He would need to be carefully supervised until he'd proved his worth with them. "Nor can I give you an employment record. Greg has never been employed here."

"You've really thought this through," Greg muttered. He thumped his cane on the floor a couple of times, staring down at the ground. Then he looked up, his gaze flitting from her to Wilson and back again. "Okay, I'll do it, but I have two conditions."

"Of course you do," Cuddy said dryly, "you do realise that you're in no position to negotiate terms?"

"No negotiation, these are deal breakers," House said with seeming confidence. "First, I need pain medicine. A proper prescription, for Vicodin. I take my medication on my schedule, not when someone decided I'm allowed to have it, if I've been a good boy."

"Greg was on Oxycontin, four a day, it seemed to suffice."

"I'm not Greg, I take Vicodin, and more than four a day."

"How many more?"

House waggled his finger at her. "No, that's between me any my doctor, if I had one. Wilson puts his name on the scripts in 'my' universe."

She studied him, he was trying to appear casual but she could see this issue was important to him. Greg had always tried to scam extra medication, he'd had addictive tendencies when he was in college, and had ended up becoming a slave because he couldn't control his gambling habit, or his drinking habit, or his drug habit. Becoming a slave had cured all those problems for him.

She would bet money that House was addicted to his Vicodin, and had been for some time, there was a hunger in his eyes that made it obvious. Controlling his drugs could help control him.

"Very well, Doctor Wilson will write your prescriptions for now. You will not exceed the recommended maximum daily dose."

"Of course not, I would never do that," House said with a straight face, obviously lying.

"And your second condition?"

"My fellows know the truth."

Now, that was interesting. It had always been an important point for Greg, that his fellows were his, he had firing and hiring privileges over them and they had to call him 'Doctor House' in the diagnostics offices or in front of patients. Of course, it was an illusion, the reality was that he had control over them only because she permitted it, but it was an illusion he had always been at pains to maintain. Now this 'House', was also invested in the way his fellows saw him.

"I want them to know that I am not a slave, and that I have never been a slave. If you don't tell them, I will."

"Working with him every day they will realise something is different anyway." Wilson put in, "House may look like Greg, but there are differences, and he doesn't act like a slave. And they know about the whipping you ordered, and Greg's usual recovery time, and they will be highly suspicious of any story that he was suddenly freed. Most of the hospital know that stuff too of course, there will be lots of speculation." Wilson rubbed the back of his neck, contemplating the situation, Cuddy suspected he was very disappointed by the loss of 'his' slave - although he was too much of a politician to show that to House. She also surmised that Wilson had seen Greg 'acting like a slave' more than most people. At the hospital Greg had erased many of the typical slave mannerisms from his behaviour. It was only when something forcibly reminded him of his status - such as a being fetched by security, or being sentenced to disciplinary action, or after he return to the hospital with Wilson after a night away, that he reverted to carrying himself more like a slave.

She shrugged, Wilson was right, telling the fellows the truth would stop them wasting time investigating by themselves, and if they weren't running around looking for answers it might quiet down the rest of the hospital.

"We'll tell them together, it shouldn't make much difference to them. House will be an acceptable substitute to Greg for them, I imagine their methods are much the same. I'm sure Cameron will be thrilled."


	3. Chapter 3

House  was escorted back to his office by Wilson, who then reluctantly left to do some work of his own. Cuddy had sent out a hospital wide memo about Greg being 'freed'. House  had already noticed that he was drawing stares from the other staff as he moved around the hospital. It figured that being a 'freed slave' was going to be a fairly low rung on the social ladder around here, probably one step above being a not-freed slave. Wilson had already warned him not to wander around the hospital without an escort until word had circulated about his new 'status'.

Cuddy had told him she was going to call the fellows to come in, there was a case arriving for them shortly, it seemed as far as she was concerned it would be 'business as usual' as soon as possible.

He looked around the office, eyeing the bunk with distaste. He didn't want to sleep in this place, but Cuddy had indicated that his first pay would be the end of the month, still a couple of weeks away, and he had nowhere else to go. No doubt 'his' apartment was currently being occupied by someone else, someone who hadn't been enslaved fifteen years ago or whenever it was. He still couldn't get over that concept. All the time he'd been getting kicked out of hospitals, and then meeting Stacy, and the infarction, all that time this 'Greg' had been owned by this hospital, complete with collar around his neck apparently. He'd slept here every night knowing that the next day he would still be a slave, still have no freedom.

He wondered where Greg had gone when he vanished from this place, the logical assumption was that he was where House used to be. Taking House's place, his apartment, his job, his bike, all his things. The bastard had certainly gotten the best end of the deal. House hoped that he'd fall asleep tonight and wake up back there. Back where he belonged. If that meant 'Greg' ending up back here in this hell hole then so be it, at least he was used to it.

On ly a day ago the biggest problems in his life had been the excruciating pain in his leg, and the fact that he had lost Stacy  _again_ . It was ir onic that Wilson had been yammering on at him about seeking a 'distraction' as a cure for all his pain. Well, House sure as hell was distracted now.

He felt a sense of loss when he thought about Wilson. For those fifteen years that Greg had been enslaved, Wilson had been there for House . Sure, he was a pain in the ass sometimes, with all his lecturing but when the chips were down Wilson could be relied on. He'd seen House  through the infarction, as much as House  had tried to drive him away, and he was a handy source of pills, beer, m on ey and food. He was also useful for a quick alibi if House  needed one. There was a Wilson-substitute here of course, but this Wilson had viewed House  as a slave, had watched him receive a flogging and had apparently done nothing to intervene, this wasn't his Wilson. It hit him suddenly that he might not see _his_ Wilson again, ever.

Feeling restless, and needing to get away from this office, with the ghost of the slave-Greg hanging over it he limped down the hall to the bathroom. Wils on  had said not to go wandering around but he could hardly be expected to escort House  to the bathroom every time he wanted to go.

House pushed open the door and caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. A man, dressed in jeans and a dirty t-shirt, a bucket and brush in his hands. House stared at him, the man had a metal collar around his neck, with two d-rings set in it. He was stooped, as if to make himself small, and looked tired, as if this life had burned everything out of him. The man didn't meet his eyes, sliding off to one side as if he was invisible and House wouldn't have seen him.

"Wait," House blurted out. This was the first slave he'd seen, here, in this strange universe that was so like his, but so unlike at the same time. Well, not counting those poor creatures in the ward anyway. He didn't know what he was going to say to the man, ask him what is was like, being a slave? Ask him if he knew Greg?

The slave glanced at him, and then his eyes went wide.

"Your collar!" he looked around, as if looking for any witnesses. "Crazy Greg, they'll kill you..."

The slave looked terrified, of him or for him, House wasn't sure.

"I'm not a slave any more, they freed me," he told the slave, the first time he'd told the lie. He was surprised how easily it came to his lips. He was going to make a smart comment, something dismissive, he didn't care what this man, what this _slave_ thought. But as he looked at the tired man, the slump of his shoulders, the weariness in the way he held his bucket of dirty water, he couldn't make light of this.

The slave stared at him, then closed his eyes for a moment, an expressi on  of anguish crossing his features.  _Why couldn't it be me_ ? House  heard, as clearly as if the slave had spoken. He thought for a moment of telling him the truth, that House came from a world where there were no slaves, but what good would it do this man? It wasn't a world he would ever know.

The slave opened his eyes again, his features were now carefully blank. Without a further word he ducked his head, deferring to the free man, and slipped silently out of the bathroom. This time House let him go.

* * *

"So, you're telling us that this isn't Greg? That... this man is from...another reality?" Foreman said, scepticism written all over his features. Cuddy had called them all into her office, the three fellows and House , and was telling the fellows the truth. Needless to say all three were standing there with their jaws metaphorically hanging open.

"That's what we believe," she said crisply, "and the medical evidence backs this theory up. We have conclusively proven that the diagnostics slave, Greg and this man - House \- are different people. House tells me there are no slaves in his universe, as difficult as that is to believe. As he has never been enslaved we cannot impose that status on him. As far as the rest of the hospital is concerned I have freed him, only you three, Doctor Wilson, and myself, will know the truth."

"And Greg is gone...to this other universe, we won't see him again?" Cameron asked and House could swear he heard a faint wobble in her voice, at the thought of losing 'Greg'.

"What's the matter, Cameron? Going to miss your pet slave?" he asked, figuring she would be as easy to rile here as she was back in his world.

Cameron blushed, flustered. "No! It wasn't...it wasn't right, Greg being a slave. He shouldn't have been. Doctors shouldn't be slaves."

"They should just be janitors instead? Do the menial work? So you can all pretend they're not real people?" House  asked, the memory of that man in the bathroom still fresh in his mind. How close had Greg come to being that man? What if he hadn't been purchased by Cuddy for this hospital?

"Greg couldn't handle life as a free person, that's why he was made a slave, he lost control of his own life." Foreman said, "there was nothing wrong with him being a slave. He was given a position in this hospital far beyond what he should have expected as a slave."

"That's enough, I didn't call you in here to debate Greg's situation. He's gone, he may come back, he may not. We don't know what triggered the changeover, but we do have to accept the fact that it has occurred. Doctor House  is here now, and as I explained, he has agreed to take up Greg's former positi on . Nothing should change for the three of you, you are Doctor House 's fellows and subject to his direction as always." Cuddy cut in, glancing at her watch, she'd spent far too much of the day on this already. She picked a file folder up off her desk. "You have a case, teenage super model. Presented with double vision, sudden aggressive behavior, cataple-"

"So, that's it? We just accept that we have a different person for our boss? Everything just goes on as normal?" Cameron asked, looking from Cuddy to House in disbelief. "We're not going to do anything to get Greg back, or to return Doctor House?"

"Hey, if you know how to do that I'll be the first in the transporter," House  shrugged, "but until then cat fight and cataplexy on the catwalk beats out doctor from an alternative universe. Come on kiddies, let's leave Mistress Cuddy to get on with her important work. Probably wants to find another hot young stud of a slave to take to her bed, you know... now that she hasn't got Greg."

"Greg was _never_...," Cuddy started to protest an d then realised that the fellows were staring at her, slight smiles on their faces. Those damned rumours, would they _never_ die down? "Just get out, House. Go and do your job and we may keep you employed here."

* * *

Wilson watched the man in the conference room through the large glass windows. He was leading a differential, while pacing around the room and from the way he was snarling at the fellows things weren't going well. He sighed deeply, this man looked so much like Greg, but he was nothing like him, not really. Oh, it appeared that they had the same approach to medicine, the same genius. But Greg had been _his_ , he'd tagged the slave, he'd cared for him, he'd taken him home, he'd taken him to his bed, he'd _owned_ him.

His skin tingled as he remembered the way Greg used to suck him off, the willing way the slave had given him pleasure. The way Greg had shivered under his hand when Wilson had played with his scar, tracing it with his fingers, dipping in and out of the depressions. They way he had limped around the room while Wilson watched. After receiving fifty lashes Greg would have been putty in Wilson's hands. He could have taken him away from here, nursed him back to health in his hotel room, saved him from receiving the next fifty. This could have been his opportunity to win Greg's trust.

Instead of that he'd lost Greg, lost his tag, lost everything they had. Greg had been taken from him, and Wilson didn't know if he'd ever see him again. He would have accepted House  in his place, and wearing his collar, but Cuddy had denied him even that. Now he had no hold over the other man at all. The leash was curled up in Wilson's lab coat pocket, ready for Wilson to snap it onto Greg's collar and lead him away, but Greg wasn't here and House  had no collar. There were only two things that were important in Wilson's life, his job and his slave, and he'd lost that slave.

He was about to turn away when House suddenly stumbled, his leg going from under him. He caught himself on the edge of a cabinet and got his cane back underneath him but Wilson could see the extra pain creasing his face. Wilson felt that familiar thrill travel through his body as he watched House take a couple of paces back to a chair and sit there rubbing his thigh.

Maybe this House wasn't as different from Greg as Wilson had thought. It looked like their pain was the same.

* * *

House  was staring at the whiteboard with the teenage supermodel's symptoms written on it when Wilson came into the office.

"I'm going home now, what are you going to do for tonight?" Wilson asked and House  slowly focused his attention on him.

"Well, since I have no home to go to, and Cuddy hasn't advanced me any salary, let alone given me a credit card or the key to her house , I guess I'm staying here at Chez Diagnostics. There's a little shelf in the back to sleep on, but you know that already. Unless you want to lend me some money, my Wilson used to do that for me."

Wilson smiled faintly. "I don't think I can do that, and I'm not sure you should be on your own in this world just yet, but I'm staying in a hotel at the moment. You can come with me, we'll get some dinner first. You can have a look around, see if this Princeton looks the same as yours. We can get to know each other a bit, strange as that sounds."

"Are you asking me out on a date?" House  said, amused, but feeling the familiar spark of pleasure at the prospect of spending time with Wilson. Not Wilson, he forcefully reminded himself, just a guy who looks a bit, well a lot, like him.

Wilson rubbed his neck, a mannerism House  found eerily familiar, it was one his Wilson was fond of doing.

"I'm asking you if you'd rather get away from here for a bit, get a nice dinner rather than something from the cafeteria. Cuddy should have made some arrangements for you, I don't know why she hasn't..."

"She wants me to be dependant on  this hospital so that I stay. She wants me to be scared of becoming a slave for real."

"Are you?"

House  didn't answer that. Or course he didn't want to be a slave, but the whole concept was still so bizarre to him that he couldn't really take the threat seriously. Surely there would be a whole process before someone was called a slave?

He did want to get out of the hospital though. He'd been receiving strange looks from the few people he'd seen today, and the fellows kept looking at him like they expected him to disappear in a puff of smoke any minute. The patient was more or less stable, he could afford a few hours away from here. It would be nice to have a good nights sleep away from the hospital, away from these people who all thought he'd been a slave. At least he'd only have Wilson to deal with.

"Okay, but it had better be a good dinner, no slave steaks," he joked.

"No, those are really tough." Wilson answered with a deadpan expression and House  was startled for one minute until he saw a quirk of Wilson's lips. He couldn't help smiling back.

* * *

Dinner with Wilson had been good. It was almost like being with his own Wilson. They talked shop, patients, cases, hospital politics, and made fun of the fellows. There were a couple of slaves in the restaurant, kneeling at their owner's feet while they ate. At first House  stared at them, fascinated by the collars, and the leashes, but after a while they just became background to him. Wilson and the other diners didn't even seem to notice. It was the same on the street, slaves walked alongside their owners, there were a couple of slaves with leashes fixed to ringbolts outside shops, kneeling, tethered by their necks, waiting patiently while their owners shopped inside. The slaves never looked up at the passing traffic, and pedestrians didn't so much as glance at them as they went about their business.

"Don't they try to escape?" House  asked as they walked past one on the way back to Wilson's car.

Wilson looked puzzled and then followed House 's gaze. He shook his head. "No, why should they? They're legally slaves, they either agreed to it, or they placed themselves in a position where no was no choice but to enslave them. Most slaves realise that they are better off being cared for like this, they're used to it, and there is a training process I believe they go through, to help them adapt. The ones that don't adapt...well, the penalty for attempted escape is pretty severe. It's not like there's anywhere for them to go anyway, they are much better off where they are, they're fed, kept fit and healthy and given gainful work to do."

"Yeah, it's like a win-win situation for them," House  replied, shaking his head. The way that Wilson talked about the slaves annoyed him, but people were like that - they accepted whatever they grew up with as normal, there was no reason for Wilson to question it really, as long as he benefited.

Wilson drove him to the hotel, and ushered him up to his room. It was obvious Wilson had been staying here a while, probably going through a divorce just like 'his' Wilson. When they entered the room House  took a quick look around, pretty standard hotel room, one double bed.

"So, who gets the bed? Bearing in mind that I'm a cripple," House rubbed his thigh to drive home the point.

Wilson pointed to a futon rolled up in the corner.

"I have this, I'll sleep on that, you can have the bed, it will be better for your leg. I'm just going to have a shower and get changed, you can use the bathroom after if you like. Make yourself at home."

Wilson disappeared into the bathroom and House  quickly began a tour of the room. He had a look at the wardrobe, but all it c on tained were the standard boring Wils on  work suits. Another couple of pairs of expensive shoes, briefcase, laptop. He flicked through the usual hotel literature and paused at a couple of entries.

_ Hotel security staff can provide disciplinary action for slaves at a nominal fee. Staff are professionally trained in all methods of correction so that no lasting harm is done to the slave. The hotel also has a small selection of instruments for your own use, at no charge. _

_ For all rooms designated as Owner/slave-occupied a futon will be provided for the slave's use if you do not choose to allow the slave in your bed. _

_ Use of the hotel's non-tagged slaves can be arranged with the front desk, fee schedule and conditions of use are available on application. _

House looked again at the futon. That Wilson had one meant that this room was 'owner/slave' occupied which meant that Wilson regularly brought Greg here. Did Greg sleep on the futon, or on the...his gaze switched to the bed. He stared at it, envisioning Wilson lying on it, with a man who looked like House. _A slave_.

"Find anything interesting?" Wilson stood in the doorway to the room, still wet from his shower, a towel wrapped around him. "I''m sure you took the opportunity to snoop, did my clothes reveal some hidden secrets about me?"

"What does a tag mean on a slave?" House  stared at Wilson, unable to shake the image of those slaves on the street, collared and leashed, tied up and waiting for their owner's return. "You mentioned a tag when you first saw me on that bed in the hospital - you asked where 'your tag' was. So you had Greg tagged."

Wilson looked uncomfortable and rubbed the back of his neck, the towel wavering unsteadily around his waist. Despite himself House  flicked a glance at the towel, wondering if it might fall.

"If you don't tell me I can easily look it up on the...oh what's it called - the internet, that's it. I'm sure this stuff isn't exactly a secret. I could call down to the front desk and ask them, I'm sure they'll be happy to tell me, maybe they'll even send up some 'instruments'." He looked around for the room phone.

"No, no it's okay, I'll tell you. A tag just reserves that slave for that person's sole use. It means that no-one else can use the slave for sex, except for the person that tagged them, not without that person's permission anyway. It's usually placed on a slave you own, but in a large institution with a lot of slaves, like the hospital, sometimes employees are allowed to tag the slaves. When I tagged Greg it meant that he could wander around the hospital without anyone bothering him, or making use of him. He was under my care and control."

"By 'make use of him' you mean, have sex with him. Rape him? That used to happen to Greg, before you tagged him?"

"Well...it wasn't rape, slaves can't be raped, they don't have any consent to give, or withhold, they just do what they're told. But yes, some hospital staff did make use of Greg, if they caught him unescorted around the hospital, or in the elevators. He wasn't supposed to go anywhere without an escort, or to go on the elevators  _at all._ But, being the stubborn ass he was, he still did sometimes. After I tagged him, nobody could use him in a sexual manner without my permissi on . it made him safer, and his life easier."

Wilson looked down at himself, smiling ruefully at the towel around his waist.

"Look, can I just get changed? This isn't the sort of conver sat ion I want to have while I'm standing here in a towel and nothing else ."

Suddenly House didn't want Wilson in the room with him half naked either. He turned away and sat down on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the remote control. He didn't ask the question he wanted to ask, because he didn't want to know the answer.

Once Wilson had changed they watched a bit of mindless television. Except for the role that slaves played in the movies and TV shows it was fairly unchanged from what House  was used to. They consumed a few small bottles of alcohol from the mini-bar in their room and then Wilson yawned.

"I'm beat, House. Didn't get much sleep last night. I'll hit the futon, you can keep watching if you want."

"No, I'm done." House  turned off the TV and watched while Wilson laid down on the futon.

"So, when you tagged Greg. Was it just to save him from being raped," he used the word deliberately, "by everyone who felt like 'using him', or so that you could have him for yourself?"

"If you're asking whether I had sex with Greg of course I did, I had him tagged. But it wasn't rape, as I already told you, a slave can't be raped. I didn't 'use' him, I had sex with him. A lot of the time he initiated it himself. I took care of him, I made sure he had good food to eat, and didn't have to go to the slave canteen for all of his meals, I made sure he got his meds on  time, and that he wasn't overworked in the clinic, and I kept an eye on  his physical health. He was better off with me tagging him, than being an untagged slave."

"Well, aren't you just the most altruistic little slave owner. Somebody should recommend you for Owner Of the Year. I bet poor Greg is heartbroken that he's gone to a place where nobody is 'taking care' of him."

Wilson sighed, "look, I know this is difficult for you, and I'm sure it sounds like something awful to you, but this is routine here. I had a perfect right to tag Greg, and Cuddy gave me permission, so I did. I believe we _both_ benefited from the relationship and yes, I'm going to miss having Greg. I hope that if Greg has gone to your world, that someone there  _does_ take care of him. Now, I'm going to sleep, let's debate more on the ills of this world tomorrow. You can tell me what else we're doing wrong."

House  lay in the darkness, listening to Wilson's steady breathing. Wilson had described it so matter-of-factly, as if it was _nothing_ , this sexual relationship he had with Greg. House  had always believed Wilson to be straight, or at least so far in denial that he would never even contemplate being with another man.

This Wilson, who looked so much like him, who talked like him, who had the same job, the same life, this Wilson talked easily about taking another man to his bed. About taking Greg to his bed. In this universe Wilson and Greg were lovers. Something that House  had fantasized about for years, thinking that it would always be unobtainable. Now, Greg was in House 's place, back in the free universe, with Wilson, with  _ House's _ Wilson. Would Greg be able to take for himself what House  had always wanted?

House  felt a wave of misery settle over him, of longing for a world he might never see again, and a future that he might have had with his Wilson that now he would never know.


	4. Chapter 4

  


House  eyed his patient, in her glass, goldfish bowl, room. He was sure this was a case of abuse. Supermodel had PTSD, probably from Daddy diddling her. The Dad was also her manager, a manager who liked to extol his client's many physical attributes to all who would listen. Now he just had to get Dad to admit it and he could wrap up this case.

He heard a cough and looked up to see Foreman standing next to him.

"Nasty cough, you should get it seen to."

Foreman ignored his comment. House  was impressed by how like his counterpart this Foreman was, they had both mastered the art of maintaining the same facial expression all day long. Boring in one universe meant boring in the next apparently.

Foreman had been trying to do some sort of 'take charge' manoeuvre all day. House wondered how he'd liked having a slave as a boss, not much, House would bet. Maybe he saw the disappearance of 'Greg' as his big chance to step up and take leadership of diagnostics if House decided not to hang around.

"Look, I get that you want to rush to a diagnosis. This is your first case here, you need to prove yourself to Cuddy, and to us. Just stop and think, reconsider this, there's no evidence of abuse. You don't have to pull a diagnosis out of thin air, just to show us you can." Foreman said in what he probably considered to be a calm and authoritative tone of voice.

House stared at him. Foreman thought House had something to prove to his fellows? He grinned to himself, this would be good.

"Thanks," he said out loud to Foreman, nodding his head as if Foreman had spoken some wise words. Foreman nodded back and looked satisfied.

House  turned away from him and yelled down the corridor, to where the Dad was  just entering his daughter's room.

"Are you doing your daughter?"

Conversation all around him stopped, movement stopped. Everyone stared at the father and then back at House. The father advanced upon him and House backed away towards the bathroom, elbowing the door open.

"In here," he said to the father and then turned towards the people all staring at them, expressions of shock and disgust on their faces, "he's not. Sure he's not. She is a babe though."

He closed the door on them all, but not before catching a glimpse of Foreman, who had an odd expression on his face, it almost looked like concern.

* * *

When he emerged from the bathroom, having finally gotten the father to confess to sleeping with his daughter, he was met by the imposing presence of two security guards, both as tall as him. The PPTH security guards he was used to were mostly overweight ex-cops biding their time until retirement. These guys looked more like a cross between professional bouncers and secret service agents. He cast a wary eye at them.

"Doctor Cuddy wants to see you," one said, hand resting on a baton at his hip, the other guard moving behind House , splitting his attention.

"She'll have to wait, I have a life to save." He turned to go but his elbow was  grabbed and pulled by the second guard, causing him to stagger, his leg buckling under him. The first guard smoothly took the cane out of his hand.

"Now," he said.

He was hustled into the elevator before he knew it, sandwiched between the two men.

"Look, I don't know if you guys have heard but I'm not a slave boy anymore. I'm a doctor, and head of the Diagnostics department, on the other hand you guys are just two disposable security goons. Now give me my cane back."

The guard holding his cane hit the stop button on the elevator and House  felt a moment of real fear, remembering Wilson's warning about wandering around the hospital unescorted, and his talk of how the hospital staff 'used' Greg. House  was n't a slave, but would the lack of a collar stop these men?

The guard with his cane tapped it on the ground.

"We were told you'd been freed. Nobody knows why, or how it happened so fast. Or how you aren't in a hospital bed right now. I don't know what the fuck went on but as far as we're concerned nothing much has changed when it comes to you. Doctor Cuddy asks us to fetch you, we fetch you. You may be 'free' now but you aren't anyone we're interested in taking orders from. Now if you're a good boy and shut up I'll give you your cane back  and you can walk all nice and dignified to Doctor Cuddy's office. If you're not a good boy we'll drag you there."

House  was  about to launch a verbal volley at the guy but then shut his mouth, he hated not having his cane and he wanted to get off this elevator. The guard smiled at him and handed him the cane, starting the elevator again.

"Good boy, Greg."

* * *

"You rang, mistress?" House said, bowing deeply as he entered Cuddy's office. The security guards had seen him to the door and then departed, he hoped. Cuddy looked up from her paperwork and frowned at him.

"Stop calling me that, I wasn't your mistress, I was your owner."

"If I'd known you wanted to strap on the high heels and get out the leather I would have left a whip in your office to give you the hint." House  snarked back and thumped his cane on the ground. "Need I remind you that you weren't my owner because I have never been a slave. Don't send security goons to haul me down here to your dungeon. I'm a doctor, I'm a Department Head, if you wouldn't send a posse for Wilson then don't send one for me."

Her eyes widened at that and House felt a sliver of satisfaction, she probably wasn't used to Greggie, her pet slave, asserting himself like that. He needed to make the distinction very clear to her, and to everyone else in this damned place.

She looked down at her desk for a moment, clearly caught off guard. Then she looked back at him.

"You're quite right, I apologise."

Well, those weren't words he was used to hearing from any version of Cuddy.

"I needed to see you, and I asked the security guards to find you, like I always did with Greg. There were standing orders about how he was  to be handled, and I assume they followed some version of that with you. I will reinforce with them that 'Greg' is now free, and is to be accorded the same respect as any other member of staff." She sighed and sat back  in her chair, regarding him with a slight smile. "You must understand, 'you' were a slave here for fifteen years, nobody here knows you as anything different. It's going to take some time for them to adjust, and to be honest being a freed slave is, well...it's not the highest of social statuses."

"Yeah, I figured that."

"They didn't... 'hurt' you, did they?"

House snorted. "'Hurt' me? You mean 'make use of me'?"

"Hurt you in any way, I meant." Cuddy replied primly. "Needless to say, no-one can now 'make use of you'."

"No, they didn't 'hurt me', they did however drag me away from my case, which was just getting interesting, so if we're done I'll get back to it." House  turned to go.

"No, I'm not finished with you yet. I heard that you accused the father of abusing his daughter, I need to know what you found out. And we need to have a talk about proper decorum in this hospital. Whatever you might have gotten away with in your hospital doesn't apply here. I run a tight ship, House , and I won't put up with you doing anything to endanger that."

House  sighed, he'd only been here a couple of days and he was already getting called on the carpet, it seemed some things didn't change even when the rest of the world did.

* * *

The fellows all looked up at him with wide eyes when he entered the lab where they were working.

"What did Doctor Cuddy want?" Cameron asked, word must have gotten around of his visit to the Dean's office. "Foreman told us what happened, with the father."

"You can't just yell out an accusation like that, not in public. Everybody in this hospital knows you as a slave, they're going to expect you to behave a certain way. Greg would never have done that." Foreman said.

"I'm sure Greg wouldn't, but I'm not Greg and I run the case my way. If you have a problem with that feel free to leave, before I kick your ass out of here."

"I'm just trying to stop you doing something that could get you into trouble," Foreman said stiffly, "this isn't the world you were used to."

 _You got that right_ , House thought to himself. He wondered how Greg had ever managed to come up with diagnoses with all the restrictions being a slave must have placed on him. Had he lived in fear of the security squad turning up whenever Cuddy had asked them to 'fetch' him? If the goons had been more careful with him because of his supposed free status, how much rougher had they been with Greg?

He looked up and realised that the three fellows were staring at him and forced his mind back  to the case. Foreman had been wrong, he didn't have anything to 'prove' to them, but he did need to establish quickly that he was  in charge here, and he could do this job.

"Daddy was doing his daughter, he confessed - thanks to my 'public accusation'. She has PTSD, pack her bags and get her a pysch referral." He widened his eyes at them, "hey, maybe that's why I was sent here, to 'right what once went wrong', to do what Greg couldn't - and now I've cured the girl I'll go back." He looked around at them all, amused when they all stared at him, seeming to hold their breaths and wait for him to disappear in a cloud of smoke. After a few seconds he shrugged. "No, that's not it. Too bad."

"Maybe you didn't go back because she isn't cured, or diagnosed." Chase said, handing him some lab results. "Elevated proteins in her CSF, it's not PTSD."

House  stared at the printout, damn, he was wrong. Again.

* * *

Wilson turned up to take him to lunch at the hospital's cafeteria.

"Still no money, you'll have to pay."

"What else is new?" Wilson asked as they took their trays through the line. House  was shoved from behind.

"Hey, slave canteen is downstairs, boy." The burly man in the line behind him said when he turned around.

"Don't let me stop you then, I hear they serve meatloaf on Mondays," House  said, grabbing a large piece of pie and a bag of chips to put on the tray Wilson was holding. "'Case you hadn't heard, _Dickie_ , I'm not a slave anymore, see look - I know it's complicated, but try to follow anyway - no collar, no slave."

"Shut your big mouth slave, or I'll shut it for you. In case you haven't heard, once a slave always a slave." The man flicked a glance at Wilson who was busy paying for their lunches and lowered his voice, "of course, now Wilson hasn't got you tagged maybe you can come up to the gynaecology lounge after lunch, always did enjoy the sight of you on your knees sucking me off. Why should Wilson have all the fun?"

House  raised his cane, getting ready to  take a swing at the guy, all his frustration at being stuck in this place coming out. Dick Carbin, third rate cardiologist, was  an asshole in his universe, and looked to be just as big a one here.

He felt a hand come down on his shoulder, turning him away from the line.

"Come on, let's go find a table. I've got a busy afternoon and I'd rather eat than try and explain to Cuddy why Carbin is in her ER." Wilson turned to Carbin. "Doctor House  is now a member of staff here, and a Department head, he has Doctor Cuddy's full support, you'd probably do well to remember that."

House  reluctantly followed Wilson to a far corner of the large room. "I don't need you to protect me," he told Wilson as he sat down, grabbing food off Wilson's tray.

"You have to remember that the rest of the staff are used to seeing 'you' as a slave, it's going to take a while before people think of you as something else."

"Yeah, got that lecture from Foreman, thanks Dad. Maybe I should come clean, and tell everyone that I'm from a different reality. "

Wilson looked alarmed. "If you do that, and manage to convince anyone, how long do you think it would be before there'd be other questions asked? Before somebody official took notice of you? Maybe hauled you off to find out where you came from? Or maybe decided that alternates from different realities can also be classified as slaves? There's too many unknowns House , you need to keep this quiet."

"So I should just pretend to be a good little ex-slave, keep my head down, and prove to everyone I'm worthy of keeping around, and not just an ass to fuck? Maybe I should go up to Carbin's lounge and get to my knees for him. Is that what Greg used to do for you?"

"Keep your voice down, House." Wilson looked around at the other tables, but apart from a few people shooting curious looks their way nobody much seemed to be paying any attention to them. "How is the case going?"

"Oh, let's change the subject then shall we? Okay, I'll play. She has cancer."

"Oh? What type?"

"Don't know, can't find it. We need an oncologist, do you do consults?"

  


* * *

Cancer turned out to be another dead end. Wilson has examined every organ, poked and prodded the patient but they couldn't find a trace of cancer anywhere. House  returned to his office, frustration written in every movement. His leg was killing him, and this case was defeating him. The fellows were sitting around the conference table, they looked up hopefully as he came in.

"It's not cancer."

They conducted a spirited differential, with House shooting their ideas down one by one. They were at a dead end with the girl.

"I'm leaving, House, if you want to come." Wilson lounged in the doorway, and the fellows all turned to look at him and then swivelled to look back at House. Interesting reaction, House thought. He wasn't sure about going with Wilson again, and sleeping in that small hotel room which he used to share with a slave, but the alternative, sleeping on a narrow bed tucked into a corner of the office wasn't exactly appealing either.

"Give me ten minutes," he said, turning back to the whiteboard. Wilson gave him a little wave and then disappeared.

You might as well all go home as well, unless you have any actually useful ideas," House said. Three blank, tired faces looking back at him and he waved his hand at them, dismissing them. They gathered their things together, while shooting looks at each other. Finally Cameron stepped forward.

"You came in with Wilson this morning," Cameron blurted out. "Chase saw you. And now you're going home with him."

"It's not a crime is it? Don't discriminate against oncologists, it's not their fault all their patients die."

"Wilson had you tagged." Chase said as if that was somehow significant.

"First of all, Wilson did not have _me_ tagged. I am, believe it or not, from another reality or universe, or fold in the sandwich - whatever term we're using today. Wilson had someone who looked like me 'tagged'."

"You know what that means?"

"Apparently it means that they were having s - e - x , don't tell Cameron, she'll be jealous." He shot a look at Cameron and put his hand to  his mouth, "oops! My bad, pretend you didn't hear that Cameron, I'm sure they were just good friends."

"I don't know why I'm bothering, because you're not going to listen to a word I say, as usual but..." Foreman looked in the direction of Wilson's office and then lowered his voice, as if Wilson could hear him through the walls. "Look, we don't know exactly what went on with Doctor Wilson and you...er, Greg. We know he used to come for Greg after work, and put a leash on him and take him out. Whatever happened then, whatever Wilson did to him, Greg did  _not_ enjoy it. When he came back, after spending a night with Wilson, he always looked like... like a slave."

House  felt himself closing down, like he always did automatically when someone tried snooping in his private life. He had virtually nothing in this world, the only thing he had was  this job and the tenuous link he had forged with this world's Wilson. Now the fellows were trying to stick their noses into that. None of this was  their business. He fell back on his usual habit of deflecting.

"He looked like a slave, because he was one apparently, had the collar and all, strange how that works."

"Shit, I give up. You're a stubborn ass who thinks he knows better than everyone else. Do whatever the hell you want. It's your funeral." Apparently Foreman had reached his quota of being a concerned citizen for the day and he grabbed his bag and stormed out. Chase glanced at House  and started to say something but then quickly followed Foreman out the door.

Cameron stood up and approached House , he took a step back ward but she just smiled and laid a hand on his arm.

"Just... be careful is all we are trying to say. Don't think that Wilson has your best interests at heart."

House  stared at her, then moved his arm away.

"Don't assume that I'm Greg, or that I'm anything like him. I don't know what all those years of slavery does to someone, but I guess you do. I'm not that man."

"Greg never talked about how he felt - about being a slave, I mean. He never talked about anything personal. We went on a date once, and he still never talked about it."

She moved off, picking up her bag, and then going to the door. She stopped in the doorway, looking back at him.

"He never talked about it, but he didn't have to. Greg hated being a slave, and he hated going home with Wilson. I know you're not him, but you're taking his place. Don't do anything you'll end up hating."

With that she left and he stood by his desk and waited for Wilson to return and take him away.

* * *

"When did you meet Greg? Was it before he was enslaved?" House asked Wilson as they sat in the same depressing hotel room watching the television.

Wilson looked at his in surprise.

"No, I only met him last year, when I started working here. I got him to help on one of my cases."

For some reason House had expected Wilson to have met Greg at the same conference that he'd met Wilson in his world. He wondered how his own life would have been different with no Wilson in it.

"Have you known your Wilson a lot longer?"

"I bailed him out of jail fifteen years ago, we were both in New Orleans for a conference, he got into trouble in a bar and I bailed him out."

Wilson was staring at him. "I remember that conference, I was fresh out of med school, just an intern. And I did some damage in a bar and spent the night in jail, nobody bailed me out, I went before the judge the next morning - got off with a fine.":

"I was one of the speakers at the conference."

Wilson shook his head, "not at that conference. In fact, that would have been just about the time when Greg got into debt and was enslaved"

Both men fell silent. House wondered if Greg had been scheduled to speak at that conference, but had had a collar put around his neck before he could. What was he doing on the weekend of the conference when House had been meeting his Wilson?

"So, you never knew Greg when he was free?"

"No, of course not, I only met him last year like I told you." Wilson sounded a little impatient at this line of questioning.

"When you put your tag on his collar." House said flatly.

"Well no, that was only a couple of months ago, once I had chance to get to know Greg myself, and to finalise my divorce from Julie. Vogler had Greg tagged for a while last year anyway"

House shook his head, trying to reconcile this sudden influx of Greg's history. _Vogler_ had him tagged?

"He didn't like Greg's time being wasted by the other staff, he said that the hospital didn't buy Greg for that."

House  realised that when Wilson said Greg's time was 'being wasted' he meant that the other staff were having sex with Greg, using him as they liked to euphemistically phrase it in this society.

Wilson talked about it so calmly, so matter of factedly, as if it didn't matter what the hospital staff did with Greg, yet he'd stopped it by tagging Greg himself. House  didn't know whether he could trust this Wilson or not. Wilson had said he'd only had Greg's best interests at heart, a sentiment House  knew that his Wilson would echo - with all his interfering with House 's life, his Vicodin usage, even his team. And yet, there was something about this Wilson, and there was the reaction of House 's team to the man...

House  pulled out his Vicodin. Wilson had given him the prescription as arranged and House  was  comforted by the familiar weight of the bottle in his pocket.

"Are you in pain?" Wilson asked, his expression alight with interest.

House  paused in the act of throwing two tablets into his mouth and eyed Wilson. His Wilson usually greeted the sight of House  taking the tablets with either a roll of his eyes or a disapproving look.

"I'm always in pain. That hasn't changed just because I've hopped universes, in fact this place is a giant pain in my butt." House  answered, chucking the medication into his mouth and swallowing loudly.

Wilson was still staring at him intently and House looked away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with Wilson's scrutiny.

"Look, House, I've been thinking. I know you don't know me very well, but you're in a tight spot for living expenses, and this hotel room kind of sucks as a place to go home to at night - and it's cramped for two people. Why don't we find a place together? I'll pay for it until you get your first pay then we can split it."

"You're asking me to move in with you?

Wilson shrugged, still looking at him with that peculiar intensity. "You're alone here, in this world, you need a place to stay, so do I. It only makes sense that we find a place together. You're not Greg, and I'm not your Wilson, but it seems like we'd be predisposed to get along together. Unless you'd rather move in with Cameron or Chase."

"Well, Cameron does have a certain appeal... "

"And Chase doesn't?"

"I like my objects of lust female, like my supermodel with her 'heart shaped ass'... "House trailed off, his brain making connections, the case opening up before him.

"House?"

"There's one place we didn't look for cancer."

Wilson look confused. "Are we... talking about your patient now?"

"Of course, keep up. We didn't look for cancer in her testicles." He grabbed for his phone and his jacket. "Take me back  to the hospital."

* * *

House  watched his patient through the glass window of her room as she sobbed silently, her father nowhere to be seen. Her whole word view had been destroyed with the news that she had testes, and other male attributes, that she was n't, strictly speaking, biologically female. He'd been harsher than necessary with her, lashing out at her as he wanted to lash out at this new world he was  living in. He lingered for one moment, thinking he might go in and try and say something to her, something to help her. Instead he turned around and limped off in the direction of Wilson's office.

* * *

"I need a shot of morphine in my spine."

Wilson looked up from the work on his desk. House was standing there, leaning heavily on his cane, his hand trembling on the handle. He was obviously in a good deal of pain. Wilson felt the familiar rush through him, the arousal as he breathed in House's pain. He could enjoy this pain, and then he could help House, he could show him that he could trust Wilson.

He stood up from the desk, coming around to House.

"Is your thigh inflamed? I should take a look, see if there's any change. Maybe what's happened has affected it."

House  looked at him for a beat and then obediently slipped his pants down his legs, exposing the scar to Wilson's gaze. Wilson regarded it, seeing its familiar contours and textures, the source of all House 's pain. He lent down for a closer look, his hands reaching out to it.

"I can get you the shot, if it'll help. Then you can lie down in here while it takes affect."

House  took a clumsy step back , preventing Wilson from touching the scar. Wilson frowned up at him.

"I asked Cuddy for a shot," House said, "to see what she'd say."

"And...?" Wilson didn't understand where House was going with this.

"She told me to shut up and take my Vicodin, that any increased pain was all in my head."

House  reached down to pull up his pants, fastening them hastily around his waist.

"You enjoy my pain, just as you enjoyed Greg's," he said, looking down at Wilson, almost sadly.

"I don't... " Wilson protested feebly, his mind whirring, how had House known that?

"You enjoy my pain, and you want to control it, and me. Just like you controlled Greg. You can't put a shiny tag on my collar, so you want to tie me to you by my own neediness."

"I cared for Greg," Wilson insisted. "I helped him."

"You stood and watched while he was  given fifty strokes of a whip. You stood there and drank in his pain. You came down to the slave ward that night to enjoy it some more. My Wilson... " House  stopped for a moment, looking out the window, a hitch in his voice. When he looked back  his eyes were bleak. "My Wilson would have taken those blows for me, if he could."

"I never hurt Greg."

"I stopped believing in Santa Claus and the tooth fairy when I was a child, Wilson. If you enjoyed his pain you hurt him. You put him on a leash and took him back to your hotel room to have sex with him. Maybe, if you'd met Greg when he wasn't a slave, maybe things would have been different, I don't know. But you met him when he was an easy target, someone you had a lot of power over, and you used that."

House  limped to the door while Wilson watched. He wanted to make House  stop, he wanted him to take back those things he'd said. He wanted Greg back.

"It would be different with you, House, you're not a slave, you're free. We can... "

"No, we can't. I can't be that for you, and you won't be satisfied with anything less."

House  paused at the door, his hand on the knob.

"You need me," Wilson said, "you have no-one else to turn to, nowhere to sleep but here, no money, no friends, nothing. You need my help."

"No," House said, "I don't."

With that he left, shutting the door firmly behind him. Wilson stood looking at the closed door for a moment. Then he sat down behind his desk, trying to focus on his work again. After a while he opened one of the drawers in his desk and took out the leash he kept there. Greg's leash. He held it tightly for a moment, remembering, and then hurled it against the closed door.

* * *

Cuddy called out to House  as he limped towards the hospital doors.

"Where are you going House? Where's Wilson?"

"No idea." House kept going. Cuddy put out a hand to slow his progress.

"I thought you were staying with him, the last couple of days."

"I was, now I'm not."

"You can't leave."

"I can do anything I want, I'm free."

"You'll never make it alone, without money, without identity. You can't practise anywhere without a license."

"Greg House has a license, and you've 'freed' him - the papers I have in my pocket say that. I can't leave the State for two years, not that I have to work in this hospital. I'm going to set up a consultancy business online. You're welcome to engage my services, when you need them, we'll talk about my rates."

"Why don't you stay here? I'll advance you some money so you can find a place, you don't have to live with Wilson, you don't even have to see him if you don't want to."

"I can't stay here, I'm never going to be anything but an ex-slave here. This is a new world for me Cuddy, I don't want to be here, but as I am here I need to start over. Your hospital has had Greg's services for fifteen years without paying for them, I'm sure whatever you paid for him has been repaid many times over by now. You've had your pound of flesh. I hope wherever the poor bastard has gone it's somewhere better for him."

Cuddy regarded him silently, it was true that Greg had more than repaid his purchase price, she'd built the reputation of the hospital on his back without ever admitting he was a slave to the outside world. When she'd drawn up his manumission agreement she hadn't stipulated that he had to work in her hospital, although she had expected that he would. This position had been made for him after all.

Now, as she looked at House, she saw the man she'd known those years ago at Michigan, the tall proud man who bent for no-one. If she forced him to stay here, and she was sure she could, he would be resentful and difficult to manage - he'd already shown on this case that he would be a handful, and she didn't have the luxury of sending him for a well deserved whipping whenever he deserved one.

House  took a step towards her, his expression open and honest for once, sincere.

"Let me go, please."

She slowly nodded her head.

"Stop by tomorrow and we'll do the paperwork terminating your employment, a new record even for you I think - three days. I can also give you a few hours employment in the clinic if you need some quick cash."

He nodded, and then glanced out the doors again, clearly eager to be outside, to gain his freedom.

"Good luck, House," she said.

He looked at her, and bounced his cane on the ground a couple of times and then turned around and went confidently out the front door of the hospital, alone, unshackled and unleashed. Free.

She watched him until he was out of sight and then returned to her office. There would be a bit of explaining to do about this rapid sequence of events to the staff and the Board. The loss of the diagnostic department would be a blow, but on the other hand the presence of a slave doctor had never sat well with many of the staff and there had always been opposition, she could put a positive spin on this, sell it as being good for the hospital.

She would keep an eye on House's progress as an 'online consultant' - if he was the House she knew, it was very likely that he would get himself into trouble sooner or later. One day he might be on the market again, and she would be ready.

* * *

House  breathed a sigh of relief as he left the oppressive air of the hospital. The hospital that was not his hospital, the Cuddy and Wilson who weren't his friends. His grief over kicking Stacy out of his life seemed distant now, consumed by the problems of this new world. He wasn't sure what the future held for him, but at least he wouldn't be repeating the mistakes of the past.

He pulled out the cellphone that he'd been provided with and punched in a number.

"Foreman, need to talk to you." He supplied the name of a bar he'd noticed close to the hospital and then hung up and made two more calls to the other fellows. If he was  going to consult he'd need some help, and without a Diagnostics Department they would find themselves unemployed, or shunted back  to their original specialties. Besides they had the cash he didn't have.

He put his phone away and started walking to wards his future.

The End

  



End file.
